


hallowed ground

by someawkwardprose



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Audio 03: In the Shadows (Torchwood), Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:42:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29244513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someawkwardprose/pseuds/someawkwardprose
Summary: “I brought you back,” Ianto said, as if it was that simple.“You saved me,” Jack said.Ianto shrugged, and brushed his nose against Jack’s. “Just returning the favour.”Jack and Ianto, in the aftermath.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 15
Kudos: 65





	hallowed ground

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in a total writing slump, but last Friday the gang did a group listen to _In the Shadows_ , which I absolutely adored. so this came about. 
> 
> big shout out to the server, but especially [remi](https://thirteeninafez.tumblr.com/), for all the cheerleading, emotional support, and general handholding. any mistakes are mine. 
> 
> general warnings for vague discussions of (canon in an au) death, some gross stuff that has happened in Jack's past. I am (not entirely inexperienced) ace, and I don't exactly have the same equiptment as Jack and Ianto, so any innacuracies are on me again.

The Rift Gift had been small, and Jack was happy to just drop Tosh and Owen off on their way back to the Hub. He offered to do the same with Ianto, but Ianto had just raised his eyebrow, and reminded Jack his car was still in the underground garage. 

In truth, Jack was grateful. Four years, most of them spent alone, living with the guilt of knowing he had killed Gwen, had done worse to Ianto - 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to let either of them out of his sight right now. His shoulders had tensed more with every step that Gwen had taken away from them in the Dockside, and he tried not to think about the fact he was sending her away for the weekend, where he couldn’t see her. Where he couldn’t protect her. 

It wasn’t as if he’d protected her in the first place. Considering he’d - 

Ianto’s hand rested on his knee, warm and grounding. Jack took a steadying breath, and shot him a grateful smile.

That wasn’t him, he reminded himself. Jack would have never pulled the trigger, not on Gwen. And...no matter what Ianto did, Jack couldn’t imagine hurting him. He hadn’t after Lisa, when the man had only been a member of Jack’s team; the idea that he could put Ianto through anything close to what Jack had lived through left him sick to his stomach. 

It hadn’t happened. That wasn’t real. 

He took one hand off the wheel and tangled his fingers with Ianto’s. Ianto gave him a reassuring squeeze as he turned the SUV towards the underground garage.

Cutting the engine, he expected Ianto to let go of his hand, to get out of the car and wish him goodnight - then kiss him, drag him downstairs into his bunker, and fuck Jack until he couldn’t remember anything but Ianto’s name. Ianto did neither. He simply sat in the passenger seat, holding Jack’s hand, and watching him with careful, caring eyes. 

The silence stretched, cavernous. 

“Well,” Jack began, unable to stand the tension.

“I don’t think you should stay in the Hub tonight,” Ianto interrupted him. 

Jack’s mouth snapped shut with a click. He swallowed back the immediate refusal, and considered it for a moment, before shaking his head. “Someone needs to be here in case the Rift spits out something.” 

“We can take the remote monitor back to mine,” Ianto said immediately. 

“I need -” 

“To get out of here.” Ianto’s voice was firm, but his eyes were unsure when Jack met them. He looked younger, here in the dim light, this vulnerable man who had reached into shadows and plucked Jack out of the darkness. 

“I saw you, Jack,” he added softly, when Jack hesitated. “I saw your Hell.” 

Jack’s hand flexed, his grip tightening on Ianto’s. “It wasn’t -” 

“Come home with me, Jack,” Ianto said, and Jack didn’t have it in him to protest anymore. 

* * *

Ianto drove them home in his car - the one Jack had gotten him, after the debacle last Christmas - and Jack tried not to fidget. He tried to look out the window, but in reality, he was watching Ianto’s reflection mirrored on the glass. 

“You barely ate at the pub,” Ianto said, faux-casual. “Want to pick something up?” 

His stomach churned at the thought of food. Already, the memories of - that place, wherever it was - were trickling away like sand draining from the top of an hourglass, but he had a vague notion of the world going cold, of having nothing to eat, of bodies piled up outside the Hub. Jack had felt empty, but even then, he hadn’t resorted to _that._

Some had, though. At the end. 

“No thanks,” he managed, and swallowed back bile. 

Ianto glanced at him. “There’s probably some bread in the freezer, if you get hungry later.”

Jack did his best to crack a smile. “Bread in the _freezer?”_

“I spend most of my nights with you in the Hub,” Ianto said nonchalantly, but Jack was sure that, if it had been lighter, he would see the tips of Ianto’s ears turning red. “It gets moldy too quickly to eat, otherwise.” 

“Of course,” Jack replied, his lips twitching. 

“It’s economical.” 

“Practical.” 

“Yes,” Ianto said decisively, and Jack let his grin break free. 

_I love you,_ he thought, and froze. 

The first time he had admitted that to himself had been in that place. Just before - 

“Jack?” 

Jack turned back to look at Ianto, whose eyes were trained on the road, but kept flicking back to Jack concernedly. “Sorry. Went away for a minute.” 

“I noticed,” Ianto said. Jack realised he was pulling into the carpark outside his building, and neatly reversing into the space that Jack always thought of as his. “You okay?” 

Jack grinned at him, and leaned over to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Yep.” 

Ianto gave him a surprised look, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “What was that for?” 

“Nothing,” Jack shrugged as he unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for the car door. “Just felt like it.” 

The confused - but fond - smile stayed on his face as he got out of the car, and something in Jack’s rib cage _twisted,_ something that wasn’t quite his heart, because Jack knew from experience that his heart would grow back. This organ, this feeling, whatever it was...Jack knew it couldn’t be replaced. 

Ianto’s hand caught his again as they started walking towards his building, his grip was steadying. He didn’t even pull away as they reached the door being held open by his neighbour, despite the way he ducked his head, distinctly self-conscious. For Jack, who’d grown up in a time and a culture that was far more tactile and far less inhibited, touch was the main form of comfort he’d had, relied on the small allowances that this century offered him. Ianto, who had grown up in a home where touch was not always harmless - not that he’d ever _told_ Jack outright - always tried to offer Jack more than he himself was comfortable with. That meant more to Jack than Ianto would ever know. 

Jack thanked the older woman - number twenty-four, he thought - who gave him and Ianto an indulgent smile. It was strange to think that he was here enough for Ianto’s neighbours to start recognising him, but good. The rota system for nights Gwen had put in place when he’d been...away, that was good. Smart. That meant that some nights, Jack got to leave the Hub and forget about Torchwood for a while, and lose himself in Ianto. 

Ianto had to let go of his hand to unlock the door, and Jack used the opportunity to cop a feel, smirking at the look Ianto shot him over his shoulder. “Behave.” 

“Never,” Jack promised, crowding in close behind him, hands sliding around to his waist to pull him backwards. 

“None of that now.” Ianto had to twist his arm oddly to swat at him. “Let me get inside at least before you molest me.” 

“Spoilsport,” Jack murmured into his ear, feeling Ianto shiver, but released him. Ianto finally managed to get the door open, and they stepped through the entryway, and that was different too, because normally they spilled inside, all roaming hands and breathless laughter. For the first time in months (years, for him), for the first time since Lisa, Jack just walked inside and looked around as Ianto hit the lightswitch, as if he’d never seen it before. As if it had been four years. 

“Hey,” Ianto said, wrapping his fingers around Jack’s wrist. “Still with me?” 

Jack nodded. “Yeah. Yes.” 

Ianto just looked at him for a second before jerking his chin towards the bedroom. “Why don’t you go get ready for bed while I lock up.” 

“I hope you’re planning to do a little more than sleep,” Jack said, and Ianto rolled his eyes, smacking his ass to get him moving. Jack grinned, but did as he was told, stripping off his coat and hanging it on the hook as he passed. Boots came off at the door to the bedroom, because Ianto’s corridor was too tight for a shoe rack, but he also didn’t like shoes on his carpet. Braces shrugged off next, and belt unbuckled, but Jack had to pause when he saw the bed, rumpled and unmade. He’d left it like that yesterday, distracting Ianto from making it until they were nearly late for work. That felt like lifetimes ago. 

He barely noticed Ianto stepping up behind him, a hand coming up to rub circles on Jack’s back. “We don’t have to,” he said quietly. “It’s okay. We can just sleep.” 

“No!” Jack exclaimed, then forced himself to calm down. “No, I want to.” 

He wanted a lot of things. He wanted to lose himself in the physicality of it all, in the heat and sweat and skin. He wanted to fill up all the empty spaces in himself, replace the memories of that place with something good and real. He wanted to relearn Ianto’s body, feel his skin under his own, and know that Ianto was there with him, alive and whole and Jack’s. 

“Okay,” Ianto said. “Let me, then.” He pulled at Jack until he turned, and started undoing his buttons, precise and practiced. There was normally a lot more fumbling here, when Jack tried to do the same to Ianto, their hands tangling as they refused to pull away from their kiss long enough to get undressed. Tonight, Jack just stood there and let Ianto take care of him, tugging the shirt off of his shoulders, urging Jack to raise his arms so he could pull off the undershirt. 

Bare from the waist up, Jack caught Ianto’s elbow, and Ianto glanced back at him, but allowed himself to be turned, letting Jack push his suit coat off of his shoulders, feeling the soft but deceptively strong muscles of his arms under the fabric of his shirt as his hands traced the descent of the coat to the floor. No waistcoat today, but the tie was blue and striped with the same tasteful pink as the shirt. Jack reached up to loosen it, and Ianto let him, his hands going for the button and zipper on Jack’s trousers. Ianto’s tie and Jack’s trousers fell to the ground at the same moment, and Jack leaned forward to steal a kiss, fingers deft on the buttons of Ianto’s shirt. Ianto’s hands roamed up Jack’s back, tracing the corded muscle, and Jack nipped his lip gently when one snuck round to pinch at his nipple. 

He dropped to his knees in front of Ianto, undoing his belt and button and zipper quickly, and Ianto’s hands found their way into his hair, rubbing circles into his scalp the way he knew Jack liked. Jack also liked when Ianto pulled at it - he wore it this long for a reason, after all - but that was okay, that would come later, if Jack got his way.

The trousers fell down and Ianto stepped out of them, letting Jack help him with his socks. Once he was done, Jack grinned cheekily up at him before mouthing at his cock through the fabric of his briefs. Ianto’s hand tensed, not-quite tangling or tugging, but Jack was patient. He suckled at the head for a second, before getting bored. He wanted to taste Ianto, feel the weight of him, so he reached up and tugged the briefs down, letting Ianto’s cock spring free. Ianto moaned as Jack took him into his mouth.

_Yeah,_ that was it. Ianto pulled at Jack’s hair, trying to make Jack take him deeper, but Jack put his hand on his hips and held him in place, looking up at Ianto through his lashes. 

“Fuck,” Ianto managed, sounding a little strangled already, and that was good, that was what Jack did to him. He had been half-hard already, and it didn’t take long for Jack to get him all the way there. His nails scratched at Jack’s scalp.

He swirled his tongue around the head, and took a deep breath before relaxing his throat, leaning forward to trace the vein all the way to the root. Ianto moaned again when Jack took him all the way down, and Jack was never more grateful for his lack of a gag reflex than now, when he could swallow around Ianto, making Ianto yank at his hair. If he could grin he would have, but that wasn’t an option, so he drew back to suckle on the head again, letting the cold air of the room do it’s work. Ianto hissed when Jack let his teeth graze him, ever so gently. 

“Stop,” Ianto said breathlessly, pulling Jack away. Jack let him go immediately, flicking his eyes back up to check if Ianto was okay. He looked it, if a little desperate. “Not tonight. I want to take care of you.” 

He let Ianto urge him upwards, let Ianto catch his mouth in a searing kiss, both dominating and loving somehow, plundering his mouth, and Jack scrabbled at his shoulders, trying not to dig his nails in. He barely noticed that Ianto was guiding him towards the bed until the mattress hit the back of his knees, and he sat down heavily pulling Ianto down onto him. Somehow, that meant Ianto was straddling his lap, both hands buried in Jack’s hair, tongue plundering his mouth. He was rocking into the bulge in Jack’s boxers, and Jack groaned, desperate for skin contact, clawing at Ianto’s back. 

“Ianto,” he panted, pulling away to breathe. Ianto ground down in the same movement, and Jack lost his train of thought for a second, especially as Ianto pulled at his hair. “Not fair. Playing dirty.” 

“Playing dirty is the only way to win with you,” Ianto murmured into his ear, and the feeling made Jack shiver. “What do you want, Jack?” 

“You,” Jack replied plainly, hands sliding down to Ianto’s hips, trying to encourage some kind of rhythm. “Come on.” 

“You want to fuck me? Want me to fuck you?” Ianto ground down again. “I don’t think you’ll last that long. I won’t.” 

“Want to watch you come,” Jack gasped out. “Want to look at your face.” 

“Okay,” Ianto said, still so damnably calm, even if his breathing was elevated. “What if I want to watch you?” 

Jack was getting too impatient to listen to him anymore, and in a move his old Time Agency hand-to-hand combat instructor would be proud of, flipped them over, so Ianto was on his back with Jack hovering over him. Ianto blinked for a second, surprised, before giving Jack a truly wicked smile, and Jack’s breath caught. Sprawled out on the dark blue sheets, all ivory skin and tousled hair, he looked like some kind of artwork, some kind of baroque painting. Something that should be in a gallery behind glass, safe. To be looked at, not sullied with hands so stained with blood it would never wash off. But he was here, under Jack, and Jack could touch him even with his unclean hands, could and had ruined him so perfectly that no one but Jack could put him back together again. 

Ianto had chosen to let him do that, Jack remembered. And he’d taken the opportunity to fit all of Jack’s jagged edges back together, to sand them down so he was safe to touch, safe to - love. He had loved Jack whole.

He had _saved_ Jack. 

Afterwards, after Jack had gotten to shower and change, before they had left the Hub, Toshiko had pulled him to the side. _“The calculations weren’t finished,”_ she had told him, wringing her hands together. _“By all rights...neither of you should have come back.”_

“Do you know what you did today?” Jack asked, still straddling Ianto. Ianto’s hands had come up to push Jack’s boxers down, copping a feel of his ass while he was at it. Jack kicked them away when he could, leaning down to capture Ianto’s lips with his own, “Do you understand?” 

Ianto stilled under him. “I brought you back,” Ianto said, as if it was that simple. 

“You saved me,” Jack said. 

Ianto shrugged, and brushed his nose against Jack’s. “Just returning the favour.” 

Jack’s breath caught in his throat. 

He’d often wondered how Ianto thought of him. If he saw Jack as his savior. Jack had dragged him out of the dark pit he’d been in after Lisa’s death, kicking and screaming; but that had been a selfish desire, a need to keep that clever mind on Torchwood’s side, to keep Ianto Jones by _his_ side.

Ianto had travelled to Hell, and he’d done it not for himself, but for Jack. Because he loved Jack. 

The words twisted up under his breastbone, battering against the prison of his rib cage, but he wouldn’t - couldn’t - say it. Not now. Not yet. 

Instead he caught Ianto in an almost savage kiss, trying to tell him without saying anything. Ianto kissed him back with the same level of passion, and Jack could hear his response. _Me too,_ he said in the language of his lips and his tongue. _I love you too._

Without consciously thinking about it, they had moved up the bed, till Ianto was splayed out on the pillows, their hips meeting in rhythmic thrusts. Ianto’s hands mapped out the planes of Jack’s back, and one of Jack’s traced the contours of Ianto’s body, something that not even four years of darkness could steal from his memory. He’d forgotten about the weight Ianto had gained, the proof that he was getting better, that Jack was helping him be healthy again, but he hadn’t forgotten the way they fit together, like a key in a lock. Or two halves of the same whole, because something about Ianto Jones was intrinsic to Jack, as if he could leave and take a part of Jack away from him forever, never to be whole again.

But today Ianto had proved he wouldn’t. He would stay with Jack for as long as he could. He would protect Jack from everything, including himself. 

“Jack,” Ianto panted, rolling his hips up to meet Jack’s. “Jack, let me - _”_

“You know what I want?” Jack stilled his movements, and felt Ianto’s nails scratch down his back, sending a bolt of arousal straight to his cock. “Here, sit up.” 

Keeping his eyes trained on Ianto, Jack shifted backwards onto his knees, helping Ianto up. Some careful maneuvering ended with Ianto back in Jack’s lap, one of Jack’s hands splayed over the small of Ianto’s back to hold him steady, and the other wrapping around their cocks. Ianto hissed at the dry friction, only helped a little by the copious precum. A hand of his own came up to grip Jack’s hair, tugging it just right, and the other reached back, nearly unseating him. Jack got the message though, and gave Ianto a little room to reach for the pump bottle on the nightstand, moved to allow Ianto to take them both in hand. 

It was Jack’s turn to moan. He’d always liked Ianto’s hands, smaller and thinner than his own, and much more graceful, more like those of a pianist than a butler-cum-alien hunter. He was good with his hands too, stroking them both to a steady rhythm that made Jack’s hips rock in time. Jack wrapped his own hand around Ianto’s, matching his pace, seeking Ianto’s lips with his own. His eyes stayed open, trained on Ianto, and Ianto met his own with a heated look, pulling Jack forward to deepen the kiss. 

It didn’t take long for his rhythm to falter, their kisses more like they were breathing in the same air. The cold air tickled at the sweat on Jack’s skin, but he was so warm, a heat building inside of him, melting away the block of ice that had filled up the empty spaces of his heart. For the first time since he had felt Gwen’s lifeblood staining his hands, Jack felt present, anchored in the here and now. He was safe. Ianto was here. 

“Jack,” Ianto panted against his lips. “Jack, Jack -” 

“Yeah,” Jack whispered back. “Come on, let me see you. Ianto-” 

One final twist of his wrist, and Ianto came, a moan that might have been Jack’s name breaking free. His cock pulsed against Jack, his come landing on their joint hands and on Jack, and something low in Jack’s stomach clenched. It wasn’t meant to feel like a claim, but it was one, one more visible and tangible than the one he had on Jack’s heart. Barely two strokes after, Jack followed, gasping Ianto’s name like a prayer.

They stayed seated like that for a few moments, resting their foreheads together. Their breathing was loud in the quiet room, but for once, Jack had no urge to fill the silence with jokes or crude comments, happy to sit there with the weight of a beautiful boy in his lap who loved him. A man who had loved Jack enough to forgive him.

“Thank you,” Jack said, meaning more than just the sex. 

“Of course,” Ianto whispered back. He had a feeling Ianto meant more too. 

Ianto caught his mouth in one last tender kiss, as chaste as it was loving, before pulling away. Jack let him go, fighting the urge to pull him back down, beg him to stay with Jack just a little longer. He seemed to sense that anyway, leaning down to press his lips to Jack’s forehead. 

“Be right back,” he promised. “You can stretch your legs out. Don’t pretend your knees aren’t killing you.” 

Jack grimaced. He liked sex, every messy, awkward part of it, but sometimes he wished he’d been made immortal just a few years younger. The pins and needles would fade faster than they would for a normal man, but this never would have happened to him in his twenties. 

“Talk about killing the mood,” he called after Ianto, carefully easing onto his back. Sensation returned to his lower legs quickly. 

“Was I wrong?” Ianto asked from the bathroom. Jack made a face at the doorway, but his shoulders refused to relax until Ianto was in his sight again, carrying a wet flannel. “Budge up.” 

Jack let Ianto clean him up, and if he lingered a little longer wiping Jack down than himself, Jack was never going to call him out on it. “You don’t have to take care of me,” Jack told him instead. 

“I want to,” Ianto said simply, tossing the cloth into the washing basket in the corner of the room. He frowned when he noticed Jack begin to shiver. “I’ll turn the heating up.” 

“Ianto,” Jack said, catching Ianto’s wrist and pulling him down onto the bed. “Just...stay.” 

Ianto gave him a long, searching look, before nodding. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Jack managed a smile, just for him. 

Somehow, they ended up under the blankets, Jack’s head pillowed on Ianto’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. They had tried it the other way, but all it had done was bring to mind that place, of holding Gwen’s cooling corpse to his chest, of sitting for days beside the skeleton that had once belonged to Ianto. The memories were fading faster now, dissipating like smoke, but still they threatened to overwhelm him, crawling up his throat and choking him with a thick miasma of fear. He had never seen Tosh and Owen’s bodies, but Gwen and Ianto had never left the Hub. Jack hadn’t been able to leave them either. 

Ianto’s fingers were gentle where they carded through his hair, and the quiet was not the thick silence of death in the other place. He let Ianto’s steady breathing lull him into sleep. 

* * *

Jack had never been a heavy sleeper, and his immortality had taken care of the rest. He didn’t even really need sleep, especially not after coming back to life, when his body was thrumming with energy. He slept sometimes because he was just so tired of being awake, because he would rather face the horrors inside his head than the horrors of the bright morning. He slept more now, because he had Ianto. Ianto needed to sleep, and Jack didn’t want to leave him, so that meant sleeping too. If Ianto’s presence helped chase away his nightmares, that was even better. And waking up to Ianto’s face, his ruffled bed head and pre-coffee attitude was quickly coming to be Jack’s favourite thing. 

Sometimes, though, not even Ianto could fend off the darkness encroaching on Jack’s mind. 

His dreams had been filled with spiralling loneliness, snapshots of his team dead, hurting, lost. Gray had featured, as had John, and the Doctor, leaving, always leaving him behind. It was cold, and it was dark, and Jack was alone, because Gwen was dead and they’d taken Ianto away, and Jack couldn’t stop them, couldn’t protect either of them. 

He opened his eyes, and saw they’d never drawn the blinds. The room was still lit by the streetlamp outside. Ianto was beside him. They must have shifted in their sleep, he thought, noticing their limbs were entwined in such a way that it was impossible to tell where Jack ended and Ianto began. 

This was home, he knew with a bone deep certainty. He wasn’t _there_ anymore. 

Slowly, carefully, he extracted himself from Ianto’s embrace, twisting round so he could look at his lover. In the low light, Ianto’s skin glowed, ethereal and ephemeral. Like if Jack stopped looking he would fade away, disappear, go back to where he had come from, some heaven Jack couldn’t reach. 

Jack had never believed in any religion. Boeshane had the gods of the sea, but his parents had never been devout. When he’d been stranded on Earth, he’d learned some of the local faiths - had converted, once, only on paper, so he could marry Jaqueline, during the First World War. But he’d never _believed._

The closest he’d ever come to having any kind of faith had been following a blonde haired girl into a blue box, and the sharp-tongued, soft-hearted man who lived inside it. But that faith had been shattered not so long ago. 

Jack was rebuilding that faith, bit by bit. Not in the Doctor, but in his team: in Owen’s caustic remarks and steady hands that saved lives; in Toshiko’s brilliance and her need to _know;_ in Gwen’s compassion and stubbornness. And in Ianto, always in Ianto, who looked at Jack’s bruised and battered and broken heart and decided he loved it, all of Jack’s scars included. 

He had hurt Ianto before, and Jack knew himself well enough to know he would hurt Ianto again. He was a timeless being, and he carried more baggage than could ever be shared. He could never give Ianto his whole heart, because one day Ianto would leave him, and no matter how involuntary that separation would be, Jack couldn’t afford to let that break him. Ianto knew that, and chose to love Jack anyway. 

Having seen the universe, Jack didn’t think he would ever be religious. But there was something in Ianto’s forgiveness, in his unconditional love, that seemed to Jack just that tiny bit divine. 

Jack shifted closer, tracing the contours of Ianto’s cheek with a single delicate finger. Ianto snuffled, murmuring in his sleep, but leaned into Jack’s touch. Jack’s breath caught. 

Having experienced that love, there was nothing else Jack could do but offer his own bloody, beaten heart back. 

“I love you,” he whispered into the night, and hoped that, even in sleep, Ianto would hear it. 

He’d tell him to his face, soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!


End file.
